


Why we are here.

by letosatie



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dorks, F/M, Freckles, Les Amis de l'ABC Shenanigans, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7175825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letosatie/pseuds/letosatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Feuilly is pretty awesome,” says Courfeyrac, and the room resonates with hums of agreement.</p><p>“It’s his hands though,” Bahorel insists, gruffly.  “I’ve seen him wrench a nut off a bolt that was too tight for me to budge, and then carefully paint those intricate, tiny designs on his fans.  He has such control.”  Bahorel’s eyes get a bit glazed.  “Capable hands,” he adds.</p><p>“Capable!” Marius blurts out.  He goes pink as everyone looks at him.  “That’s the word for Feuilly.  And graceful.  I wish I was that graceful.”  His face looks dreamy and disconcertingly reminiscent of the stalking-Cosette-period.</p><p> </p><p>In which the Les Amis all crush on Feuilly and are a bit creepy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why we are here.

“Do you not have enough people in your bed already?” says Grantaire, loud and aghast, pointing dramatically at the ABC OT3.

As he had been aiming for, the rest of the heads in the room spin around to investigate. They are in the Musain waiting on Feuilly, Jehan and Combeferre for a meeting.

“Are Joly and Bossuet not providing you with all you need, lovely Musichetta?” Bahorel inquires, with a charming grin, almost slithering towards her over the table and kissing her hand.

“Get off me,” Musichetta grumbles mildly.

“We were just hypothetically…” Joly starts to explain.

“They were choosing who would join them in bed out of us, and…” Grantaire pauses with a pained expression, “it wasn’t me!”

“Shocker,” huffs Eponine.

“Was it me?” asks Courfeyrac, as he honest-to-God tosses his hair.

“No!” shouts Bossuet, way too quickly.

“Why not?” Courfeyrac gasps, offended.

“Oh honestly, idiots, we all agree on Feuilly,” Musichetta says in a very final tone.

The room goes quiet.

“What?” says Bossuet.

“Feuilly is pretty awesome,” says Courfeyrac, and the room resonates with hums of agreement.

“It’s his hands though,” Bahorel insists, gruffly. “I’ve seen him wrench a nut off a bolt that was too tight for me to budge, and then carefully paint those intricate, tiny designs on his fans. He has such control.” Bahorel’s eyes get a bit glazed. “Capable hands,” he adds.

“Capable!” Marius blurts out. He goes pink as everyone looks at him. “That’s the word for Feuilly. And graceful. I wish I was that graceful.” His face looks dreamy and disconcertingly reminiscent of the stalking-Cosette-period.

“We could share,” Cosette suggests, sweetly. “I’d be surrounded by glorious freckles.” 

“I have freckles,” says Jehan, entering the room and the conversation. “What about them?”

“Feuilly has freckles. And Marius has freckles. And Cosette is just shocking us by suggesting she’d enjoy being in a freckle sandwich.”

“Goodness,” Jehan says, circling around Bahorel to the opposite side of the room from Cosette.

“We’re all attracted to Feuilly, it seems,” Enjolras adds, “Shall we look at tonight’s agenda?”

“No, no, no, no,” taunts Eponine. “We’re all attracted to Feuilly, you said Enjolras. Want to expand on that at all, chief?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “Just. Feuilly. He’s lovely.” The others stare in fascinated silence. “I mean. I have a lot of respect for him. He believes in the good in people even though his life has not seen fit to provide him with evidence for it. He’s faithful.” Grantaire frowns, and Enjolras challenges, “Oh, as if you wouldn’t bed him if you could. I’ve seen you, ogling his bum.”

“He does have a very nice arse,” says Grantaire, with an air of fairness.

“True,” muses Eponine, while Courfeyrac and, surprisingly, Marius nod their agreement.

“Besides,” Grantaire continues, “you can talk Apollo. Last summer, when Feuilly wore shorts, you kept asking him to put the banners and posters up high so you could check out his calf muscles.”

Musichetta taps the table, nodding. “Hell yeah,” she says, “calf muscles. He has the best calf muscles here, except maybe R’s.”

Grantaire bows in her direction and attempts to seductively flounce the hem of his jeans, to affectionate snickers and giggles from Joly and Musichetta.

“Would you sleep with Feuilly, Marius?” Courfeyrac wants to know. “I only ask because you weren’t gay enough to sleep with me when we met, and I spent a lot of time parading around in boxers in front of you and you were still a firm no.”

“I might,” Marius whispers, a little defiantly, “if I was attracted to men.”

“If I was gay for anyone, it would be Feuilly,” says Bahorel. “Remember when Courfeyrac tried to seduce him last year. He spent a lot of time parading around in his boxers… wait, is that the only move you’ve got Courf?” 

“It’s probably time to start the meeting,” growls Courfeyrac. 

“I’ve been lucky enough to be with our precious fan maker,” Jehan calls, from where he is sitting on a table. Bahorel wolf whistles. Jehan winks at him.

“Good isn’t he?” Eponine says smugly.

“Yes,” says Jehan, and they both giggle.

Courfeyrac glares at them both. Enjolras and Grantaire are glaring at each other. 

“Have you?” Grantaire says suspiciously.

“That’s none of your business,” Enjolras answers, blushing and fidgeting with his notes. “Have you?” he asks, with a confusing mix of hurt, accusation and resentment colouring his voice.

“That’s between me, Feuilly, and any of my future lovers,” Grantaire declares. 

The pink hue of Enjolras’ face deepens.

“He’s steady,” says Eponine, “calm, y’know? I’ve never had… he makes me feel safe.”

“I love that he’s so positive,” Jehan says, “I see the beauty in things but I see it in everything, including decay and death and pain too. Our Feuilly holds my head above the surface of the dark things sometimes.”

Combeferre comes in and stops mid stride, peering at the group curiously. “What’s going on here?”

“It turns out we all have crushes on Feuilly,” Joly tells him.

“That’s not surprising,” shrugs Combeferre. “He is the best of us.”

“Et tu, Brute!” Courfeyrac cries, passionately.

Combeferre flings his arm around Courfeyrac's shoulders and ruffles his hair. “Feuilly is the perfect example of the goodness in a person despite their circumstances. He’s why we are here, in a way, because he deserves everything.”

“Beautifully said,” Jehan sighs. 

“Have you been discussing this long?” Combeferre inquires.

“We were waiting for you,” Courfeyrac says, still looking decidedly sulky. 

“Long enough for R and Enj to get into it,” points out Bahorel, indicating the pair who have stopped paying attention to the group’s conversation. Enjolras has his arms crossed and Grantaire is waving his hands like he’s attempting to fly, and they are hissing barbs at each other. 

“Huh,” says Combeferre, contemplatively, “it’s just that I passed Feuilly on the way in, skulking in the hallway, and looking uncomfortable. Think maybe he heard you?”

“Oh my God,” Joly says, mortified.

“This is terrible, we’ve been so creepy,” Jehan exclaims, racing with Bahorel towards the door. Most of them follow, seeking Feuilly to beg his forgiveness and his presence, and leaving Combeferre to take a seat next to Bossuet, who moves his crutches to make room. 

They’re coaxing a flushing Feuilly inside when Bossuet cries out in terror. 

“Help! Musichetta!”

“What? What is it my gummy bear?” she says, running in with her fists up.

Bossuet is pale and pointing to the corner, where Grantaire and Enjolras are making out in a slobbery, tangled pile on a table.

“Ew,” says Eponine. It’s the only sound bar some gross sucking noises for a few stunned moments.

“Guess they’re settling for second best?” says Feuilly finally, smirking.


End file.
